Recovery
by ceirdwenfc
Summary: Susan Macmillan is a widow with a young child. Seamus Finnigan is a convicted murderer serving his sentence at her farm in Scotland. These are seven short pieces done for 7snogs on LJ. Canon/spoilers for DH and DAYD and Sluagh by thanfiction
1. Idle Hands

Susan had just finished checking on Cecily for the final time tonight when she noticed the low light coming from the nearest outbuilding. _That's odd_, she thought, slipping on her dressing gown. She couldn't imagine who was out and about this late at night. One last peek, and she was quietly down the steps and out the door, heading into the warm night.

Standing in the doorway of the lambing hut, Susan watched Seamus. He was pacing like a caged animal, kicking up hay and straw with every erratic movement. His hair was loose and wild, flying in his face, his hands fumbling to keep it away from his mouth and eyes as he turned, pausing on the balls of his feet. He never looked directly at her, but she couldn't imagine that with all those years spent on the Belfast streets that he wouldn't notice her there now. Observation was survival; she knew that from her last year at Hogwarts, but his life had changed dramatically after that living day to day on his own, a traumatized shell of the boy she knew at school. He continued to ignore her, finally finding himself near the supporting beam in the center of the hut.

He smashed both fists into the beam, causing Susan to jump in fright. She stepped back, wondering if she had made a mistake in bringing him here, to her home, so close to her child. She knew what he had done; about the men he'd murdered, but she also knew that wasn't the man she knew in school. She hesitated, not wanting to leave him, but also not wanting to interrupt or startle him. She didn't know him very well; he had only been at the Loch for a few weeks, still recuperating from his injuries. She turned to go, deciding to leave him in his anger, but then he took hold of the timber with both hands and leaned his forehead against it. His hair fell forward, shielding his face from her and then as suddenly as he had become angered, he stilled. He sat down, knees drawn up to his chest, head resting on them.

He was breathing deeply, eyes closed. He didn't look up or react at all when Susan approached him, her bare feet crunching on the straw. She kneeled in front of him, covering his hands with one of hers, the other sweeping the long strands back from his face to touch his cheek with the back of her hand.

"Why?" he whispered.

"Why?" she repeated.

He lifted his head, looking hopeless as he stared into her eyes. His eyes were the color of the sky and as light as hers were dark. He barely blinked, repeating his question, even more hushed than the first time. "Why'd ya bring me here?"

"Everyone deserves a second chance, Seamus."

"Even me, love?" He should have sounded teasing. There was a twinkle missing in his eyes.

She bent her head down, kissing the back of his hand. "Everyone, Seamus. It _will_ get better for you. Each day will be a better one." She pushed his hair behind his ear. "You'll see. Now get some rest. If you're well enough to tear up the hut, you're well enough to work, and there's much to do on the farm in the morning. Mornings here start earlier than what you're used to, I imagine. "

"Idle hands are the devil's playthings," he winked.

"Then you've nothing to worry about, Seamus Finnigan. No one here has idle hands."

She laughed, standing, tugging on his hands that she still held. He got to his feet readily and followed her out of the hut.


	2. Matchmakers

Susan had been straightening the kitchen. She had just set the dishes to washing when she heard Cecily cry out. Hearing the patter of her daughter's feet on the steps, she ran into the hallway. Cecily's tartan nightgown flittered and bounced around her knees as she ran past Susan.

"Cecily, what is it lass? Is something –" She stopped speaking as her concerns left her, watching her taller than average six year old jump into Seamus' lap, thrusting a small book into his waiting hands.

He laughed when he looked at the cover. Mitchell MacDonald's Bagpipes. "Again?" he asked in feigned annoyance. The crackle of the fireplace made them both look over at the glowing embers, each of them seeing different things in the flickering flames.

"Papa says this was Da's favorite when he was my age. Read it," she directed him imperiously. She smiled up at him, her dimple deepening, knowing that Seamus never refused her.

Susan shook her head with a wry smile, thinking that her daughter was coming into her own as the DA princess. She was the most important person to many people, Susan thought, watching Seamus as he was finally, after six months on the farm, coming out of his self-imposed shell to kiss the top of her daughter's head. He began to read about Mitchell and the MacDonald clan and the bagpipes that they could hear in the distance each October.

She stood in the doorway, watching him give Cecily another kiss on her cheek when she felt Fiona's arm go around her shoulders and give a little squeeze.

"He's really grand with her, Susan."

Susan nodded.

"You know, when you first suggested bringin' him here, after those terrible things he'd done, Duncan and I were none too fond of the idea. We were more than a little worried, him bein' that close to our only granddaughter, but we love you, Susan; like our own. We respected your decision to help. He's a fine man, though. He dotes on the little lass. And Cecily adores him."

Susan looked at her as she squeezed her shoulder one more time before winking and moving back into the kitchen. Susan rolled her eyes. Her mother in law was always one for seeing matches where there weren't any.


	3. Moving On

The glasses were discarded quickly; drinking directly from the bottle gave them both a camaraderie and added familiarity as they talked. They talked for hours and each time the bottle lowered to a certain level, one of them reached for Susan's wand and refilled it. They passed the bottle back and forth and they chatted – both serious and mundane – about growing up in Belfast compared to Portsmouth; her parents' time in the Order; his mother, whom Susan had gotten to know during her visits here over the past three years; Druim Cett and Loch Cibeirdraoid. They talked about Ernie and Cecily and at some point, Susan was crying. And then it happened. Seamus was on his knees, holding Susan and comforting her.

Ernie was her first love and she missed him, but more than that, she was sad at what _he_ was missing. She was so many things and as she leaned on Seamus, she realized in all her sadness, her grief and her guilt, she'd never mourned him properly, what with their daughter, the survivor's fund, the farm. She had never moved on. And she could never let him move on when she was thinking about all that he missed.

Seamus ran his hands up and down her back, along her shoulders and the back of her neck. He whispered comforting words, slipping occasionally into Gaelic, which came so naturally to his tongue. Susan couldn't understand, but she still knew what the words meant. There were other things that she was feeling now as she heard the concern, the caring in his lilt; his gentle touches. It had been so long since she was touched by a man. And Seamus wasn't like the men that Fiona had encouraged her to date. Those men were so much like Ernie; too much like Ernie. Seamus was just…different.

He was smaller, his hair straight and longer, his touch soft and gentle; healing. And as she was pressed against him now, she fit. She fit into his embrace. Her head fit against his shoulder; in his neck. Her arms went easily around his waist and up his back, just broad enough, strong enough, just right. A moment later, their cheeks touched and they both stopped as if realizing that they _had_ to stop. In that pause in time, their eyes met, and she could see her own need reflected in his, and she was lonely and tired of waiting for him not to be so gallant. Her lips brushed the corner of his mouth. He said something; she didn't know what. He may have been trying to say 'no,' but she ignored that thought, and she pressed her lips just a bit harder in the same corner. His head wrenched back, but she refused to let him go, and then her mouth was on his and he was surging forward instead of pulling back; his hands now wandering in less familiar places, cupping her curves and holding her tightly against him.

Susan heard herself moan as her shirt was opened and the sounds she had made for only one other man seemed to spur Seamus on. For a second, she was afraid of what would come in the morning; after, but she knew in her heart that she was Seamus' now, even if neither of them had said the words, and now it was time to stop _wasting_ time. She was weeping and he hesitated as his own shirt was thrown to the ground. He looked down at her, and her eyes met his. Her fingertips gently traced over the scar, fully healed, but still raw and vivid that split the living memorial filling his torso in its two halves; the forty-seven Celtic crosses, honoring the DA. She reached up on his shoulder, running one finger sadly over her own last name, saying goodbye; finally.

He was balanced on his knees, hovering over her, his skin prickly from the cold draft of the February night. His eyes followed her hand, seeing where it rested on his body and his shoulders dipped down, Susan realizing that he was regaining control of himself. He ran his hand through his hair and he made to move off of her. Without saying a word, she covered his arm with her small hand, bringing his attention back to her. Her hands ran over the images in his skin, but looked at his face. When her hand reached his neck, she pulled his head to hers and kissed him again. His eyes closed, but popped open with a look of surprise that nearly made her laugh when she unfastened his trousers and slid them over his hips.

He met her smile with his own and covered her body with his. Their skin touching was met by a groan from them both; the anticipation being so much less than what actually was. They fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle waiting to be joined. The salt of his skin mixed with the cider still flavoring her tongue; the smell of his sweat mixing with the fresh straw that made their bed. His breath in her ear; the guttural sounds that were coming from both of them; each clenched muscle, each scraping of fingernail, each hot breath on cool skin.

Her mind and body moved together, growing closer to the woman she'd become and further away from the girl she had been. When at last, the only movement was their heavy breathing, he still lying on top of her, their legs tangled, his fingers raking through her hair, his mouth resting on her neck and she was sad and happy all at once, but for the first time in a long time, she knew it was all right. Seamus told her that it was all right and he made it all right. The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was Seamus' whisper against her skin. "_Taim I ngra leat."_


	4. A Twinge of Something

Susan stood in front of the mirror, smoothing over the snowy white fabric. She knew she looked lovely, but there was a twinge of something that she couldn't quite place. She couldn't believe that in the morning she would be getting married for the second time in her young life. The twinge she felt may have been jitters. She rarely liked being the center of attention. The twinge may have been that she was being selfish. Her first wedding day didn't end so well, and she really wanted a day to remember happily. The twinge may have been the guilt. Her husband's death, his sacrifice had given her everything. Her life. Her daughter's life. Her future. _Their_ future.

She pulled the dress down and off, stepping out of it and carefully replacing it on its hanger in the wardrobe. Her fingers touched the half a sash in blue and yellow tartan and then did the same to the new garter in the new red colors, caressing it between her fingers before placing it in the good luck pile. She closed the wardrobe and was surprised, but not quite, to see Seamus standing close to her.

"How do you do that?" she asked. "Sneaking up on me like that? Oh no! You're not supposed to see the bride before the wedding. It's bad luck." She went to push him away.

He drew her into his arms. She fit so well, she knew as he kissed the side of her head. "I've a few more minutes before tomorrow. We're safe," he reassured. Her arms went around his waist and as she rested her head on his shoulder, he tensed. "What is it? What's wrong? Second thoughts 'bout what we're doin' tomorrow?"

She shook her head slowly, but said nothing.

"Susan." He felt her tears as her shoulders fell and for a moment, he supported her, but she recovered quickly.

"It's nothing. I'm being foolish." She bit her lip and looked into his eyes. Her mouth opened and she went to look away, but Seamus' finger on her chin drew her gaze back to his.

"I know. I went half mad…well, truth be told, I went beyond mad with me own…survival, I did. Ya can't let the guilt consume ya. Ernie gave his life for ya, and sure he'd not've expected ya to survive and _not_ live. Move on. Don't even need be me. Ya can change your mind." His eyes twinkled as he smiled out of the corner of his mouth.

She touched his cheek and leaned in for a kiss, this one much deeper, much longer than the one he first gave her. "I'm not changing my mind, Seamus. You're stuck with me." She ran her fingers through his hair.

He laughed, tilting his head back. "Stuck. I ain't stuck with anythin'." He kissed her again and when he did, the twinge became a tingle and it took every effort she could muster to push him towards the open window. Tomorrow, he'd never have to leave again.


	5. Lessons Learned

The men were trying to get the little ones down for the night while their wives were catching up next to the large stone fireplace.

Megan laughed at the face Susan was pulling; the fake smile that turned to a sneer. "If one more feckin' person says that to me, I will beat them to within an inch of their life."

"Well, Susan…what do you expect? You _are_ glowing. And is that word the only thing you've learned from Seamus?"

"Of course not, but I like it. It's very…expressive."

"Well, don't let Morag hear you. She has ears like a kneazle and the tact of Umbridge. Zach swears that if she calls her brother a son of a hag again, he'll scourgify her mouth."

"He wouldn't."

"He would. He doesn't like that language coming out of his _little princess_. What he doesn't realize is that she's more serving wench than royalty."

Susan laughed now. "And he hasn't heard her mother either, obviously."

"Any ideas on what this one is?"

"Not a clue, but it's been so easy. No sickness, no aches or pains. I can eat anything…as you can see by my enormous size." She rested her hand on the top of her swell, so firm she could set her drink there without worry of it sliding off.

Megan's eye twitched, but she said nothing.

"He's sneaking up behind me, isn't he?"

Megan responded with an almost imperceptible nod as hands surrounded Susan's belly and Seamus kissed her cheek. "Not too hot, are ya, love?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Beautiful, ya are. There's a, this sort o' _glow _comin' off your face. Just lovely, 'tis."

He didn't know what hit him, but Megan's laughter wasn't the only thing ringing in his ears.


	6. Flailing Fists

Susan was surprised to find herself snuggled in her bed, alone. She sat up suddenly, her still aching back cracked once and then a second time, both echoing loudly in the night, walking gingerly over to the cradle, and finding it empty, she wondered where her boys were.

Outside the window, a gentle snow was blanketing the leaves spread across the garden. Fall was a beautiful time in the Highlands, and this late in the season was the time for light snows to fall while they slept.

She padded softly down the stairs and saw Seamus sitting in Duncan's large, comfortable chair, cradling his tiny bundle.

"Room for one more in that chair?" she whispered.

He smiled, not saying a word, but spread his arm aside, gesturing her to join him. She sat on his knee, and shimmied carefully back until she was nestled against his chest. As four-day-old Thomas cooed and flailed a tiny fist, Susan reached over to touch one pink cheek with a knowing smile. In her leaning, Seamus rested his lips on her cheek in a delicate kiss. "'Tis cla, 'tis."

A confused look crossed her face, and he turned back to his son, his eyes twinkling and lighting up.

"Ten years ago, when I left Hogwarts, I'dve sworn I'd be dead come now, I woulda. 'Stead I'm blessed, and so much besides. Ernie's parents been proper darlin's to me, ya let me be a part o' Cecily's life, but 'tis a fair cry further that. Ya saved me life, Susan…took me t'your home, your heart, gave me a son…" His words ended, tears gleaming at the edge of his eyes. "Ya _gave_ me a life, ya did, and so's I love ya dear, Sue."

Susan stroked his cheek, thinking that Seamus was the one who had given her own life back. They kissed, only stopping when Thomas interrupted them with his loud wail.


	7. Late Night Snack

Seamus slipped the belt from his trousers, hanging it on the hook behind the door. He began to unbutton his shirt, but Thomas' sigh of contentment drew his attention to his wife. Susan had just settled the red and yellow blanket over him and he snorted, rolling over onto his stomach. She reclined back in the rocker, her breast still exposed from this late night feeding.

At six months, he was already a handful: crawling, scooting, climbing up on anything that would support his weight and some things that wouldn't. Poor Susan wasn't used to such an exhausting child.

He dropped his shirt on their bed and as he kneeled in front of her, he heard the soft sound of both Susan's and Thomas' snores. She stirred slightly when he ran a finger from her neck to her full round breast. He licked her hard nipple, still dripping with milk, and swallowed the tiny bit, savoring what his son took for granted.

He couldn't believe how turned on he was becoming. The more he suckled, the more milk flowed. It was so different; warm and sweet and –.

His hands slid up her nightshirt, caressing her thighs, then hips, kneading. She startled when he squeezed a bit too hard, and he realized she'd been pretending to sleep those last few moments. He tugged her knickers out of the way and her hands pushed him away. "What do you think you're doing, Seamus Finnigan?" She tried to keep the smile out of her voice.

Her push took his mouth away from her breast with an audible pop. "Quality control," he said with a wink, half standing to climb onto her lap, lunging for her neck. She let out a shriek of surprise as he lifted her clothes over her head, kissing her neck and cheek. "Only the best for me son," he continued teasing.

They both moaned in unison when his mouth enveloped her breast once more, but then another sound was emerging. This sound was insistent and at least an octave higher than Seamus' moan, the cry gaining volume with intensity and Seamus' head dropped to Susan's chest, knowing that they would have to continue this later.

"Jealous?" Seamus asked as he lifted Thomas up, putting a delicate kiss to his soft forehead. He turned to see Susan covering up with the large shawl and laid the baby in her arms. Seamus took off his trousers and hung them beside his belt and then climbed into bed waiting, for his son to finish his midnight snack, so he could have his wife back.


End file.
